COVID-19 Pandemic (Coronavirus)

[MenacingMonk]

That study is still going through a peer review and it also references another study that's still in pre-print

One of things that stuck out to me was the selection bias due to excluding people who actually died of covid (guess you can't measure their titers if they're dead ).

Also the mean ages of the two groups differed by 10 years; the covid survivors had a mean age of 45 years while the vaccinated had a mean age 55 years. I'm sure age plays a factor with regards to antibody levels but I'll leave that discernment to the people doing the formal review.

In either case getting antibodies via a vaccine is a ton safer than getting it through exposure.

The real question we need to ask is how many healthy people died from Covid. People with no serious health problems. Is there a study on that?

Like I said, I and my fam had Covid. It didn’t hit us bad. My mom and I have HBP. My dad was fighting cancer when he got it and survived. (He eventually passed due to cancer several months later.)

Everyone’s immune system differs, but you can’t downplay how powerful are immune systems can be. Our bodies adapt to sickness and it does it’s best to fight it off in the future. Im not downplaying the benefits of a vaccine either.

 

[MenacingMonk]

Man, you dont even know that you just made it worst.........

I mean, of course there are some MDs out there that can be considered scientists, but everyday doctors working in hospitals are just doctors.

Scientists conduct studies to find out truth and facts. Doctors help out patients by knowledge based on information already out there.

 

[LeVraiPapi]

I mean, of course there are some MDs out there that can be considered scientists, but everyday doctors working in hospitals are just doctors.

Scientists conduct studies to find out truth and facts. Doctors help out patients by knowledge based on information already out there.

Thanks for telling me. I just learned something new. Thanks

 

[☑︎#VoteDemocrat]

The way he broke down the research is amazing



2:29:45 - Ivermectin
2:36:26 - Hydroxychloroquine
2:41:08 - Variants and mutations

 

[bnew]

https://www.cbs46.com/news/not-enou...cle_a551d1b6-0b87-11ec-a888-dbefff983c5c.html

"Not enough research" Paramedic still opposes vaccine after losing her child to COVID-19

• TORI COOPER
• UPDATED 1 HR AGO | POSTED ON SEP 1, 2021
  

• 
  

FLOYD County, Ga. (CBS46) -- Just one day after 13-year-old Porter Helm died of COVID-19, state Democrats are calling on Georgia Governor Brian Kemp to shut down in person learning until children can get vaccinated.

Jennifer Helm, who is Porter’s mom, is now in favor of Governor Brian Kemp issuing a statewide mask mandate after losing her son to COVID-19.

”Absolutely you can’t just keep farming these kids around in these schools,” Helm said.


Helm said she believes her son caught COVID-19 a Coosa High School.

“I just received another notification this morning.”

According to the data on the Floyd School District website Coosa High School had 11 cases within three days.

Helm said she was notified that her son came in close contact with at least six people who tested positive at the school.

The Paramedic and mother of two said, she chose not to vaccinate her son because she felt there was not enough research on the vaccine, and she feels the success rate is low.

Helm tested positive for COVID-19 the day before her son Porter.

Even after losing her son, she said she is still not sure if she will now get vaccinated.

Helm just returned home from the hospital Wednesday, where she now remains on oxygen.

She said her son Porter was at his Dad’s house less than a week after testing positive, when he suddenly didn’t wake up on Tuesday.

“He gave him some medicine and when he went back to check on him, he wasn’t breathing.”

Helm was still in the hospital receiving treatment for COVID-19 when her sister told her that Porter didn’t make it.


“It’s the most horrible thing I’ve ever been through.”

Helm still has not had a chance to see her son or tell him she loves him.

However, she said she knows what she will tell him when she finally gets to see him for the last time.

“Oh my God buddy I miss you so much, I’d give anything if you were still here.”

Porter was a lover of video games who made everyone laugh.

She said she was just now starting to learn how to cook and he always found a way to surprise people.

Helm told CBS46 she also now supports the latest call from democrats.

“We're asking that the schools be closed until all of the children are able to get the vaccine," said State Rep. Roger Bruce of Atlanta.

However, Governor Brian Kemps office said he still isn’t budging.

“The science and data has shown that kids learn well when they are in the classroom,” Governor Brian Kemp’s Spokesperson, Cody Hall said in response.

Meanwhile, Helm believes more needs to be done to get people to wake up.

“It’s just not being taken seriously,” Helm said.

According to the school districts website, Coosa High School has about a 1.2% case rate.

Under the current district policy, masks will remain optional as long as the case rate remains under 2%, otherwise the campus must return back to a mask mandate.

 

[☑︎#VoteDemocrat]

Doctors and nurses aren’t scientists.

 

[☑︎#VoteDemocrat]

theatlantic.com
I’m a Black Doctor. My Mom Still Won’t Get Vaccinated.
Elaine Batchlor
7-8 minutes
Months of cajoling and pressure haven’t worked. Neither has bringing home the COVID-19 vaccine and offering to administer it myself. I got my own vaccine as soon as I could—as did my husband and sons—with little to no side effects.

Yet my mother, a 93-year-old Black woman, still won’t get vaccinated.

Her excuses vary. One day she’ll insist, “I don’t know what’s in it,” even though I’ve explained it to her in detail. Another day: “I already have too many medications in my body,” or “I’m just not comfortable with it.” What she hasn’t said, but what I think is really the point: She doesn’t trust the medical system. And if you don’t trust a system, you don’t trust what the system is trying to do.

My mom is a college-educated woman who married a mathematician and raised three kids in a neighborhood chosen for its good schools. My degrees from Harvard, Case Western Reserve University, and UCLA are a testament to her determination and devotion to learning.

She’s well aware of my credentials. I’ve been a medical doctor for more than 30 years. I am a member of the National Academy of Medicine. I run an award-winning hospital and health system serving 1.5 million residents of South Los Angeles.

Mom lives with us. She listened closely and sympathetically over the past year and a half as I talked about COVID-19’s devastating toll on our largely Black and Latino community. She knows that my hospital was at one of the epicenters of the pandemic. She knows that COVID-19 would almost certainly kill a woman of her age. And yet, in spite of all this, something is still keeping her from getting her shots.

Before you judge her, consider this: What’s driving my mom’s refusal is stronger than even the threat of death.

I think there’s a connection between Black vaccine hesitancy, how Black people are treated within the existing health-care system, and the need for a more diverse workforce that will treat Black people with the respect and compassion that builds trust. And I think my mother’s story illustrates this connection.

A couple of years ago, my mom broke her arm. She went to the hospital associated with her insurance. The staff at the emergency department did not take sufficient actions to control her pain. When the technicians manipulated her arm to take an X-ray, she screamed in agony until she lost consciousness.

Every trip to the hospital since then—and there have been many—has been fraught with anxiety on top of needless discomfort and pain. Why? Because she is a Black woman? The stress of being Black in America is that you don’t know.

Pundits often talk about the Tuskegee Study—a shameful experiment that the U.S. government performed on African Americans beginning in the 1930s—when trying to understand present-day Black resistance to COVID-19 vaccination. But you don’t have to look back that far.

Black Americans experience higher rates of illness and lower life expectancy than other demographic groups. Wealth and fame did not protect Serena Williams from nearly dying in childbirth due to medical complications that are too often ignored and dismissed. A chilling 2020 study from George Mason University demonstrated that Black infants are three times more likely to die than white babies when cared for by white doctors.

My mother sees me railing against an unfair and unequal health-care system for the poor, many of whom are people of color. This system, Medicaid, allows states to pay doctors serving low-income patients lower rates than private insurance or even Medicare, which starves these communities of quality doctors and access to care, so preventable chronic illnesses run rampant. She knows that because of this, the rate of diabetes mortality in South L.A. is 77 percent higher than the national average.

Through her own experience and through data, my mother sees how our society disregards the pain of Black people. Her hesitancy to trust a COVID-19 vaccine is the result. Soothing words won’t be enough to overcome her fears. Only a deep commitment to reversing the structural racial disparities of American health care will.

Want to build Black trust in the medical system? Demand that Congress repair and realign our separate and unequal systems of health care. Demand an increase in public and private funding for scholarships for people of color at all of our medical schools. Fund medical-residency programs at hospitals that serve communities of color. Fix the payment inequities that make it nearly impossible for doctors to afford to practice in minority communities.

Last week, when my mother’s arm pain flared up again to unmanageable levels, I decided to take a different approach. I sent her to the emergency department at my own hospital, Martin Luther King, Jr. Community Hospital. Soon after she arrived, a nurse observed her distress and administered pain relief. A technician carefully took an X-ray at her bedside. A doctor talked to her with respect. In short, she was treated with kindness and compassion.

What made the difference? Her medical team looked a lot more like her than the team at the other hospital had. That’s because 89 percent of our staff are people of color. Doctors and nurses who may themselves have lived the American experience of racism and neglect are more likely to treat their patients of color with sensitivity.

That’s what we need more of. We need to demonstrate to Black and other underserved communities that America’s medical system stands for justice as well as health.

I fervently hope that my mother will get a COVID-19 shot soon. This week, her caregiver, a Black woman in her 50s, stopped holding out and got the vaccine. She told me that what had made the difference was that she knew three people—all Black men and women in their 30s—who died from COVID-19 this summer and were not vaccinated, while another Black friend, with cancer, survived COVID-19 and credited the vaccine. Her fear of dying overcame her distrust.

My mom remains unconvinced. I hoped she would get the shots at my hospital, reassured by the conduct and presence of Black doctors and nurses. But she’s still not ready. It will take more than one experience to overcome her deep distrust that our medical system works in her best interest. She may never get there.

Meanwhile, I have a shot ready to go. I will do my best to demonstrate to her that the vaccine is safe. And I will do my best to bring about changes to make every American patient feel cared for and seen by a health-care system that is fair, equal, and safe for all.

 

[☑︎#VoteDemocrat]

theatlantic.com
I’m a Black Doctor. My Mom Still Won’t Get Vaccinated.
Elaine Batchlor

7-8 minutes

Months of cajoling and pressure haven’t worked. Neither has bringing home the COVID-19 vaccine and offering to administer it myself. I got my own vaccine as soon as I could—as did my husband and sons—with little to no side effects.

Yet my mother, a 93-year-old Black woman, still won’t get vaccinated.

Her excuses vary. One day she’ll insist, “I don’t know what’s in it,” even though I’ve explained it to her in detail. Another day: “I already have too many medications in my body,” or “I’m just not comfortable with it.” What she hasn’t said, but what I think is really the point: She doesn’t trust the medical system. And if you don’t trust a system, you don’t trust what the system is trying to do.

My mom is a college-educated woman who married a mathematician and raised three kids in a neighborhood chosen for its good schools. My degrees from Harvard, Case Western Reserve University, and UCLA are a testament to her determination and devotion to learning.

She’s well aware of my credentials. I’ve been a medical doctor for more than 30 years. I am a member of the National Academy of Medicine. I run an award-winning hospital and health system serving 1.5 million residents of South Los Angeles.

Mom lives with us. She listened closely and sympathetically over the past year and a half as I talked about COVID-19’s devastating toll on our largely Black and Latino community. She knows that my hospital was at one of the epicenters of the pandemic. She knows that COVID-19 would almost certainly kill a woman of her age. And yet, in spite of all this, something is still keeping her from getting her shots.

Before you judge her, consider this: What’s driving my mom’s refusal is stronger than even the threat of death.

I think there’s a connection between Black vaccine hesitancy, how Black people are treated within the existing health-care system, and the need for a more diverse workforce that will treat Black people with the respect and compassion that builds trust. And I think my mother’s story illustrates this connection.

A couple of years ago, my mom broke her arm. She went to the hospital associated with her insurance. The staff at the emergency department did not take sufficient actions to control her pain. When the technicians manipulated her arm to take an X-ray, she screamed in agony until she lost consciousness.

Every trip to the hospital since then—and there have been many—has been fraught with anxiety on top of needless discomfort and pain. Why? Because she is a Black woman? The stress of being Black in America is that you don’t know.

Pundits often talk about the Tuskegee Study—a shameful experiment that the U.S. government performed on African Americans beginning in the 1930s—when trying to understand present-day Black resistance to COVID-19 vaccination. But you don’t have to look back that far.

Black Americans experience higher rates of illness and lower life expectancy than other demographic groups. Wealth and fame did not protect Serena Williams from nearly dying in childbirth due to medical complications that are too often ignored and dismissed. A chilling 2020 study from George Mason University demonstrated that Black infants are three times more likely to die than white babies when cared for by white doctors.

My mother sees me railing against an unfair and unequal health-care system for the poor, many of whom are people of color. This system, Medicaid, allows states to pay doctors serving low-income patients lower rates than private insurance or even Medicare, which starves these communities of quality doctors and access to care, so preventable chronic illnesses run rampant. She knows that because of this, the rate of diabetes mortality in South L.A. is 77 percent higher than the national average.

Through her own experience and through data, my mother sees how our society disregards the pain of Black people. Her hesitancy to trust a COVID-19 vaccine is the result. Soothing words won’t be enough to overcome her fears. Only a deep commitment to reversing the structural racial disparities of American health care will.

Want to build Black trust in the medical system? Demand that Congress repair and realign our separate and unequal systems of health care. Demand an increase in public and private funding for scholarships for people of color at all of our medical schools. Fund medical-residency programs at hospitals that serve communities of color. Fix the payment inequities that make it nearly impossible for doctors to afford to practice in minority communities.

Last week, when my mother’s arm pain flared up again to unmanageable levels, I decided to take a different approach. I sent her to the emergency department at my own hospital, Martin Luther King, Jr. Community Hospital. Soon after she arrived, a nurse observed her distress and administered pain relief. A technician carefully took an X-ray at her bedside. A doctor talked to her with respect. In short, she was treated with kindness and compassion.

What made the difference? Her medical team looked a lot more like her than the team at the other hospital had. That’s because 89 percent of our staff are people of color. Doctors and nurses who may themselves have lived the American experience of racism and neglect are more likely to treat their patients of color with sensitivity.

That’s what we need more of. We need to demonstrate to Black and other underserved communities that America’s medical system stands for justice as well as health.

I fervently hope that my mother will get a COVID-19 shot soon. This week, her caregiver, a Black woman in her 50s, stopped holding out and got the vaccine. She told me that what had made the difference was that she knew three people—all Black men and women in their 30s—who died from COVID-19 this summer and were not vaccinated, while another Black friend, with cancer, survived COVID-19 and credited the vaccine. Her fear of dying overcame her distrust.

My mom remains unconvinced. I hoped she would get the shots at my hospital, reassured by the conduct and presence of Black doctors and nurses. But she’s still not ready. It will take more than one experience to overcome her deep distrust that our medical system works in her best interest. She may never get there.

Meanwhile, I have a shot ready to go. I will do my best to demonstrate to her that the vaccine is safe. And I will do my best to bring about changes to make every American patient feel cared for and seen by a health-care system that is fair, equal, and safe for all.

 

[Gully Bull]

She 93. The author don’t seem to comprehend that part.

 

[EndGame]

to momma.

 

[Matt504]

You gotta make peace with some things. Everybody doesn't want to be saved.

 

[bdkane]

Really like his show.

 

[Luke Cage]

think you can tell your momma to do shyt brehs,

 

[☑︎#VoteDemocrat]

The way he broke down the research is amazing



2:29:45 - Ivermectin
2:36:26 - Hydroxychloroquine
2:41:08 - Variants and mutations

 

[☑︎#VoteDemocrat]

Really like his show.

he's marc lamont hill with a backbone